Snaga ob Ilska
by MelodicEclipse
Summary: Snaga ob Ilska(Slave of Evil),a story that follows Melkor, the tenth Ringwraith and daughter of Evil, is not for the faint of heart; filled with blood,guts,and glory. -'The wind whipped in my hair, and the sun shone through the smog. I was ready to reclaim my birthright. I was ready to take my place in His court. I was ready to become known to the world. I was ready to be Melkor.'-
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: We do not own anything from J.R.R Tolkien.**

* * *

Prologue

The darkness descended upon me. I gripped my scimitars, they made me feel more in control. I was used to this, it was common. This was just another part of being a child of darkness. The searing pain of the fire, then the cooling sensation as I was dropped from the grip of the one thing I feared. The blinding light and then I leaped away, released from the torture.

"Would it kill you to be gentler?" I said, picking myself up off of the harsh, stony excuse for a "floor." I was tempted to spit on it, but I didn't want to push my luck. Instead, I settled on huffing away my annoyance and stomping out of the dimly lit chamber.

On my way out I was tempted to stab the orc door-guard, but I knew He wouldn't like that. And right now, especially now, I needed to stay on my best behavior. I needed to prove myself to Him, that would be the only way to get the mission. And how desperately I wanted it, I couldn't stand to be second best to the other one like me.

I had just left the chambers when I was greeted by the familiar roar of my best friend, AgonZajar,(DawnFire). I pulled myself onto her back and we soared. I loved to fly, and AgonZajar was the smoothest flier in all of Middle Earth. She had enormous wings and was loyal only to me. When others try to ride her she made quick work of turning them into scraps of flesh. I simply love her.

The rocky, desolate landscape below quickly faded as we went higher and higher. I suppose it's grown on me, even if it's a bit sore on the eyes. All thoughts of what's below lay forgotten though, as AgonZajar broke through the thick layer of smog and haze. Here the air, still thick and dark, was calmer, at least compared to what we're used to. When I'm up here, I can actually think without worrying about my thoughts being intruded upon. And thinking was something I'd have to do a lot of to make sure I'd get this mission,which was, in a way, my birth right.

It had been growing increasingly frustrating, this whole business of having to prove myself. And when I got frustrated, I became dangerous. Well, even more than usual. My frustration would manifest until I'd have to give it an outlet, which more often than not turned out to be some unsuspecting orc. I knew that this was an unhealthy habit but hey, AgonZajar had to eat sometime and if feeding her coincided with my intense desires to unleash my anger on some unexpecting soul (do orcs even have souls?), well then all the better.

As I flew, I let my thoughts go, I felt truly free. Just as I was about to whoop with joy two dark shadows appeared on either side of me. Not this again, I didn't like it when I was summoned by those I was so desperately trying to prove myself against. They knew that their loyalty had already been tested by time, I, however, was only a few hundred years old. I was never trusted with important missions. The most exciting thing I've done is assassinate a steward of Gondor. And while that _was_ fun, it wasn't the sort of thing that showed He truly trusted me.

The shadows grew more and more distinct and I could soon make out the individual features, though there really wasn't that much to see under the dark cloaks. "What is it?" I grumbled to the Rider on my left. I didn't get an answer, instead he simply tossed me a pouch. His aim was clearly not good, but my reflexes were fast and I caught the pouch with ease. I wondered what I would find inside? Hopefully it would be food, I was starving, and by the sounds AgonZajar was making, she was hungry too.

I slowed AgonZajar down to a gliding speed, and turned the strange pouch over in my hands. I reached for the drawstring, and hesitated. What if this was some sort of test? Thinking it best to be cautious, I looked up at the riders and saw that they were still staring at me.

"Can I help you?" I spat at them, my voice laced with contempt. After a moment's pause they slipped away, disappearing into the smog without a trace, as if they were never there. Satisfied, I turned my attention back to the pouch.

I pulled the drawstrings open. My heart thudded in my chest. I slipped my hand inside and pulled out a map. It was made of heavy paper, the lines drawn in thick black pen, in the corner of it was a small note.

-Melkor

There has been news of the Ring. It was last spotted in the Shire.

The Ring is said to be traveling towards Rivendell. Find the Ring and bring it back to Mordor, it's home.

I almost dropped the note in shock. Eyes wide, I reread the note several times, still not believing what I was seeing. My heart still rattled in my chest, but there was excitement mixed in with the nervousness, once the reality of the situation had sunk in. With almost shaky hands I grabbed the note and the elaborate map and hastily stuffed them back into the pouch. It was all I could do to stop myself from leaving then and there, but I knew it would have been foolish to leave without supplies. Still, fueled by anticipation I pushed AgonZajar to her limits, desperate to get back and leave.

He was waiting for me when I touched down on the ground. I grumbled as I was forced back into the chamber of doom, again. He debriefed me on the mission, I am not allowed to reveal myself, unless absolute necessary. And, above all, I was to be patient. Though I should get the ring as quickly as possible, I was not to dash the mission with shoddy attempts at getting the ring. Though His words were dire, I couldn't wait to embark. My first real mission, I couldn't believe it.

I began gathering supplies immediately. Food for the first week, two scimitars, five elvish knives, my trusty bow and arrow, and a bed roll were all hastily thrown into the saddle bags. AgonZajar was tense too, her wings trembled in anticipation. We had been waiting for this our whole lives, the chance to prove ourselves. No one would be coming with me, not one other. This was my mission, and my mission alone.

As I stood on the uneven terrain, AgonZajar ready beside me, I felt a new feeling, a feeling I hadn't felt in years: pride. I had been chose for this job, and I was determined to be successful. I would not let Him down. So with a hardened glint in my eyes I slung one leg over AgonZajar, and even though I'd done it a million times, something felt different. There was a sense of finality to it all, and I knew that when I came back to my jagged home I would be stronger, tougher, changed. But in the meantime I would be restless. I would push myself to the very edges of my power, maybe even beyond, and I would not waver until that ring was in my possession.

I spurred AgonZajar and we were off. The wind whipped in my hair, and the sun shone through the smog. I was ready to reclaim my birthright. I was ready to take my place in His court. I was ready to become known to the world. I was ready to be Melkor.

* * *

I had been riding for what seemed like ages, the terrain below me didn't change much. There were either trees, hills or flat plains. _Boring!_ My home was much more interesting, there were no two rocks alike, and each one told its own story. I was nearing the Great River, my journey was almost halfway over. Thank Mordor, I didn't know how much longer I could stand flying over the rather uninteresting landscape.

I was so lost in thought I didn't notice the darkening sky until a couple of fat raindrops dripped down my face. It was almost time to land anyway, so AgonZajar and I decided to tuck ourselves under a large oak tree for the night. By now the soft trickle of rain had turned into a downpour, and the leaves above did little to shield us from the torrent. AgonZajar's feeble attempt at a fire lay in a smoldering heap at our feet, the charred sticks giving off little wisps of smoke.

I slowly nodded of, curled up under AgonZajar's wing. She made a small flame, almost coal like, inside of her fireproof stomach. It warmed me, like sleeping next to a bed of embers. The stars shone through the rain just a little. And it comforted me to see the same stars I would back home. I fell asleep to the steady patter of rain on the leaves.

* * *

When I woke up in the morning, soaked to the bone, the rain was still coming down heavily. I (not so gently) shoved AgonZajar awake, and was rewarded with a nasty puff of smoke to the face, before she put her head back down and made a big show of closing her eyes. After blinking the burn out of my eyes, I decided to go find breakfast with or without AgonZajar. My rumbling stomach agreed with me, so I grabbed my scimitars out of my pack, which I had stowed under a large root for the night. Though I had plenty of food, I was itching to have some fun, to feel like my old self again, the one who was trusted to do His bidding. My hopeful mood soured a bit when I stepped out from under the shelter the tree provided and was met with a strong gust of wind, accompanied by an icy smattering of rain. I cast one last withering stare at AgonZajar, all warm and cozy, and then trudged away into the downpour, the muddy earth squishing beneath my feet.

When I found still fresh tracks of a caravan, I couldn't help but smile. Humans. This would be fun. As I slunk through the underbrush I heard the faint sounds of laughter and merriment. Well, that would soon be changed. I was closest to the outermost ring of the caravan, where a little girl was sitting in the grass making a crown of daisies. She couldn't have been a day older than five,and the way she giggled as she set the finished crown upon her head was almost sickening. A woman, presumably her mother, smiled at her. This would be the perfect weakness.

As soon as the woman turned her back on the girl, I surged forward, one arm heaving the girl up, the other darting for a scimitar. The girl yelped, but by the time people looked over I already had my scimitar pressed up against her fair neck, leaving a thin but bold line of red.

"Make one move, and the girl's a goner. Now, drop your weapons. Good, good, and lay down, all except you. Yes, you. Now, go get me all your provisions and make it quick, because I'm hungry," I spat, not batting an eye at all the gasps, and the terrified shrieks from the girl's mother. The young man who I had pointed at was now scrambling to gather all he could carry, his desperation was almost comical.

A sudden movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention, a man had a small knife drawn and was tensed, ready to spring. I goaded him on, letting him believe my attention was still on the man trying to balance baskets full of blankets and food. He was only about a leap away when I whirled around.

"Don't do anything stupid, now," I snarled at him, "I wouldn't want to hurt this _precious_ little maiden, now would I." The man looked paralyzed for a moment, then he launched himself at me. I shook my head, I had forgotten how stupid humans could be, even orcs were smarter than this.

In one fluid stroke, my scimitar lashed out, slashing his potbelly in two. His blood lay thick on my blade, a delightful crimson. In a bored fashion, I turned the blade on the now wailing child, and, after pausing for effect, I sunk my scimitar into her neck, detaching her lovely little head from her still writhing body. A woman wailed, but I paid her no attention. Instead, my arm darted out to snatch a stunned youngling. Now it was his turn to have a scimitar pressed against his neck.

A stuttering voice made me look up from the boy's tender looking vein, just begging to be severed.

"Miss,...erh….Ma'am, here….here are the provisions you… um...asked for?"

"Wonderful," I responded, unceremoniously dropping the pale, shaking, toe rag of boy. He landed in a heap by the two mangled bodies and almost fainted. I couldn't help but chuckle. Oh, how I love to play with humans, so susceptible to fear and death.

I turned back to the man doubled over from all the provisions in his arms, and quickly took all the baskets with ease. I could feel the relief coming over the sorry travelers as I took stock of what they had given me. Satisfied, I turned to walk away, and paused. They should get a reward for their cooperation, and what better prize than one of my best knives? So before they knew what hit them, I'd pulled out my blade, whirled around, and thrown it, without dropping a single basket. I didn't even need to look to make sure it had found its mark in the younglings back. Sure enough, one second later, I heard a thud, the sound of a body hitting the earth, and mournful wail. Smirking, I walked away.

* * *

By the time I had returned to the tree the sky had cleared and the rain had stopped. AgonZajar yawned and looked at me with pleading eyes. Food? They begged.

"Get your own, I'm not in the mood to share. Sorry Zarry," I said. She gave me puppy dog eyes. I never cave though, I stuck to my word.

Grumbling, she trudged away, taking care to step in all the puddles, leaving me soaked. I smiled to myself, she would come around, like she always did. But in the meantime, I would sit down and enjoy my hard earned breakfast.


	2. Ukavomach ob Tharb (Stomach of Acid)

Chapter One: Ukavomach ob Tharb (Stomach of Acid)

It feels like we have been traveling for eternity, though it's only been a few weeks. My sanity is hanging on a very thin thread, and if I have to sleep under one more Mordor-forsaken tree or eat one more soggy biscuit then that delicate thread will snap. Though I survived hundreds of years of grueling training, torture, darkness, and despair, all that pales compared to the horror that is the human dish called bacon. I have expected this journey to be filled with glory, heart stopping battles, rivers of blood, and a triumphant return home with the ring. Instead, all I've gotten so far has been indigestion.

And let me tell you, indigestion is a tougher enemy than a group of fifty angry orcs. I've dealt with both; I'd take the mob of orcs over indigestion any day. My stomach rumbles painfully, I hope that it will go away soon or that a distraction comes along. Killing ruthlessly would really brighten my day.

AgonZajar perks up suddenly, her tail erect. I follow her gaze, a group of nine trudge wearily up the side of a snow covered ridge of Caradhras. They're in for a rough trek. I know that the mountain does not like those who wander upon two feet, a soft spot for Zarry has always given us safe passage, though. I grin maliciously to myself, these travelers may be fun to mess with once they realize they aren't going to make it over the mountain. This will certainly help with my mood, and perhaps with Zarry's complains about the terrible prey choices.

I gently glide her forward, smoothly cutting through the swirling clouds acting as our cover. As we loom up behind the travelers, I can make them out more clearly and feel a pang of disappointment. Though there are some humans, an elf, and a dwarf, there are also four halflings, easy pickings. Still, I am restless, and a quick fight is better than no fight, so I urge Zarry forward. We are about to ambush them from behind, when I freeze. Halflings. He told me a hobbit had the ring, and here I was, having found four hobbits traipsing along in a large, strange group, what were the odds of that?

It's all I can do not to swear under my breath as I consider my options. I could still attack them, but I have no idea who has the ring, if any of them even have it, and unless I get lucky and guess correctly, the ring bearer will be able to put on the ring and disappear. I could watch them and try to find out who has the ring, or I could sneak in at night and try to find it. In the end I settle on following them for a while, and maybe searching their stuff at night. I was also told to gather information on their plans and who's behind them, so hopefully I'll learn a lot as I follow them up the treacherous mountain.

Their plans to go over the mountain fail, it's actually kinda funny. The halflings are head deep in a fleet of snow and the others are frantically trying to find a way to get them out. The elf has leapt up onto the top of the snow and starts making his way back down the mountain again. He returns back to the others soon though, most likely he was sent scouting ahead.

I sigh, it went just as I had predicted. No fight against the mountain, just feeble retreat. It is slightly depressing, AgonZajar gave me a pitiful look. She had been hoping for a good snack or at least an entertaining fight. I share the look and turn back to the fellowship just in time to see them begin an argument.

"We should go through Moria, it will be safe and we will be welcomed with open arms," the dwarf was saying.

"Moria reeks of evil, I do not believe that your dwarfish cousins still occupy it. We would do best to avoid it," the wizard, Gandalf the Grey I realize, answers. Moria is indeed crawling with orcs and other foul beasts, my favorite of which is the Balrog.

"The hobbits won't last long out in this snow," the dwarf retorts. I agree with him on this point, the halflings look half dead.

In the end, after a long bout of bickering, they decide to go through Moria, and it's very hard to contain my snickering. I'd like to see them try to survive a day in there.

At this point, I am almost certain one of the halflings is carrying the ring, after all, being accompanied by a renowned wizard and such a motley crew was a bit of a giveaway, not to mention they are still lugging the hobbits (which, if you asked me, are just dead weight) around. By my reckoning, either they'll all die in Moria and I can go take the ring from the remains (I am certain the ring will not be lost, it is almost alive in the fact that it likes to have a master), and if any hobbit survives he must have been aided by the ancient ring.

AgonZajar takes me down to the back entrance of Moria, here we will wait. Something I don't really enjoy, but at least I will get the ring, one way or another. Zarry settles down on her haunches and I begin to make a small camp.

* * *

One day turns into two and I begin to grow restless. It shouldn't take that long for the orcs to get to them. Unless the wizard has put some sort of cloaking spell over them or the orcs here are just extremely dense. I hope they hurry because I am already bored and it's only been three days.

I suppose I could go in after them myself because I'm tired of waiting and it's clear that they're not dead yet, otherwise the orcs would have already have put their heads up as trophies. But then I would be spotted and forced to kill them before I got any information, and I know that He would be angry, whereas if they're killed by orcs I can just say I didn't get here in time, which is technically true, seeing as I haven't actually gone into Moria yet. So I sigh, and lean back against Zarry; if I'm going to be stuck here for a while more I might at least get a nap out of it.

My dreams are bloody, most would call them nightmares, but to me they are enjoyable, fun even. Zarry swoops down to rip a horse and its rider apart. I laugh as I swirl my scimitar around, easily decapitating two men. They fall to the ground with a satisfying thud. An arrow flies past my shoulder, almost grazing it. I smile, the archer falling from his perch after I throw my knife. This is one of the best dreams I have had in awhile. A piercing scream, that of a Balrog, rips through the battle field.

I wake up a few seconds later to the same sound. Quickly I scramble to my feet, how is it possible for that rag-tag bunch to make a Balrog sound like that? I am in the saddle and AgonZajar lifts of almost instantly. It is not a moment too soon, the fellowship is running, orcs hot on their tails. I almost fall off Zarry, they are all there, all except the wizard, how in Mordor is this possible?

I spur AgonZajar forward, and soon we are flying alongside the panting fellowship desperately trying to shake off the orcs. Whenever they stop to catch their breath, they also pick off the fast ones who have managed to almost keep up. But they never stop long, and as they slow Zarry does too, though not quite as drastically. I've been too scared of being spotted or losing them to let her land and rest, and it's really taken a strain on her. But day shifts into evening, and still she endures, as do the miserable questants below. They finally lose the last orc, by now the signs of the endless winter up in the mountains are fading, and soon the scraggly trees thicken. Eventually, once they have put a decent distance between themselves and the mine, they stop to rest. Well, stop is generous. More like collapse from sheer exhaustion.

I finally let Zarry land and she too collapses from the long stretch of fast flying. I curl up in the folds of her wings, too tired to lay out my bedroll or even to get out my blanket. I know I will stay warm enough in Zarry's wings. The ring will not escape my grasp, in the morning I will continue to follow them.

I do not dream, my sleep uninterrupted until morning. Zarry wakes me with a nudge. I grumble and groan for a few moments, but soon I get up and take out a stale roll. I need to restock my provisions soon. Thinking of things that need to be done soon, if I am to follow the fellowship Zarry will have to leave me. I'll never be able to show myself to them with a fell beast by my side.

The thought of leaving Zarry makes me ache inside, something I do not feel often. I have never been able to say that I love anyone or anything, but AgonZajar has come pretty close.

I push these strange thoughts away, and instead give Zarry a somewhat old but still edible rabbit I caught a few days ago. She happily digs in, shredding the mangy body. It is gone in an instant, along with all traces of it ever having been there. Content, she smacks her lips before getting up and stretching her wings. I smile to myself, and absentmindedly trace my fingers along her scarred but still somewhat smooth side. I feel another pang of something I don't quite recognize. It makes me feel almost helpless, which makes me scowl.

As the sun comes up, the fellowship does too, banging around noisily as they pack up and eat breakfast, and my scowl deepens. How is it possible for these creatures to still be alive, and how do they stand each other?

I leave these thoughts behind as two elves appear out of the trees. They're going to walk past us, and unless Zarry leaves right now we will be given away by her strong scent, and I suspect she knows it too.

I surprise both of us by pressing a kiss on her snout. She blinks at me, bows her head, and then she is off. She is silent and graceful as always, and soon she is no more than a smudge in the sky. After a moment's pause, I nimbly dart of into the brambles, tucking myself into the cluster so I won't be seen but can still observe. The elves march into the shabby camp, and a while later they are helping the fellowship pack up, seemingly having come to an agreement of sorts.

I watch as the ring disappears into woods infested with elves and worst of all a certain lady of light. AgonZajar is long gone and I am left with nothing to do but begin the trek around the forest. My pack seems heavier now that Zarry isn't flying us over the forest. There is a sort of companion ship in me and Zarry, and I wish she hadn't had to leave.

I skirt around the edge of the forest, making sure to keep an eye on the fellowship. They are rather uninteresting, but something or someone else is following them. I intend to find out what it is soon, can't have something picking off my prey. As I slip under a tree I spot a platform, there are most likely provisions and weapons in it. These elves are truly stupid to leave supplies lying around like this. I know exactly how I'm going to restock my provisions.

I gracefully clamber up the tree, and slip onto the platform, which is indeed laden with a variety of food items. After filling up my satchel I wind my back down the trunk, feeling comfortably smug. The elves were really quite foolish in their arrogance, they seemed to think the rest of the world to be lesser beings, unable to even climb trees. And platforms? Really?

Though the company has pulled ahead of me, I have no difficulties catching up. Soon I am like their shadow, hardly there, almost gliding through the now lively forest. I still sense the other presence, they are a bit more careless. Every noisily snapped twig and hastily discarded animal skeleton spikes my curiosity, and as the hours go by it swells to be almost unbearable. But I can't get sidetracked now, especially since I've become pretty sure that the strange halfling with the accent doesn't have the ring concealed in his belongings, or on his self. But that doesn't mean that they don't take turns bearing the ring, in which case all my searching would most likely be for naught.

I have to give up my following for a while as they are in the heart of Lothlorien. I, as a child of the darkness, shy away from the light and its lady. The other follower has stopped too though. It seems safe to assume that they are a creature of darkness as well. I hope that the fellowships stay in Lothlorien is short.

To my dismay it turns out that their stay is _not_ just a short break to restock, as the days pile themselves into weeks and I am stuck here, squatting in the mud, sleeping in the trees, and reaping fish from the river. The whole place is crawling with elves, so I am forced to stay put for the most part, though I do take temporary delights from scaling the trees and raiding supplies, just because I can.

By now my hands have become so accustomed to the sturdy grip all the knots, gnarls and bark give that I can clamber up a tree without the support of branches. Though it has not been without risk, there have been many close calls with the elves, and I've had to resort to leaping into an adjacent tree and hoping it will catch me more times than I'd like to admit. So, preferring not having to risk my neck more than necessary, I have decided to stay put in the muddy, prickly bramble cluster I've come to consider my home away from home and just observe for the most part.

This has proven to be one of the most _boring_ decisions I've made in centuries, my hair has suffered quite a lot of abuse from all my fits of frustration from not being able to move, to hunt, to kill, and when it's not busy being a punching bag it functions as a pillow. Not to mention on the rare occasion that I leave to relieve myself and just stretch my legs my long, dark, curly hair, once silky and groomed to perfection from hundreds of years of good care, gets caught on all the rough edges and thorns. Now it is a mess of tangles, leaves, and twigs, a constant bother hanging around my waist. But I can't bring myself to cut it.

And, worst of all, at night I can hear the whatever-it-is that's been following the fellowship prowling around. Sometimes I can almost swear it is mumbling to itself, though I always write it off as the wind. The way it walks is more of a slither, and though it is somewhat clumsy it also has a certain grace to it, a certain feeling for the dark and all that looms and lurks in it. All my instincts are screaming at me to kill it, but as if sensing my intentions, whenever I crawl towards the exit of my thicket it disappears noiselessly, without a trace.

It makes me uneasy, the fact that something can evade me like this. It lingers in the back of my mind. The feeling that it is not just watching the fellowship, but also me. This should be impossible, or at least so I thought. Apparently I was too arrogant. I am on full alert and it is taking a toll on my sleep, never have I seemed so vulnerable. Not even when He is looking at me.

Once again, I wake up in the middle of the night to that uncomfortable prickling feeling that I am being watched. I value my sleep, and if whoever is following values their life then they better run. Not caring about secrecy, I tear through the spiny shrubbery and tumble out into the clearing just in time to see something lithe and pale as death slink away. I grumble and noisily clamber back into the bush to grab my pack. I was planning on finding a new hiding place soon anyway, this is just some extra incentive.

But as my heart rate slows and my breathing calms, I start to feel my cheeks flush from my rash, impulsive stupidity. This is what happens when I get cooped up, restless. Now I lost my hiding place, and all the elf sentries were probably alerted to my presence, not to mention that I showed the creature stalking me some weakness. Out of anger and spite, I scuff my heels through the mud, only resulting in my getting sprayed by the squishy earth. Great. I want to throw something, or maybe someone, preferably the slimy, good for nothing hoodlum slinking around all creepy like. Or maybe one of the lazy fellowship members, at this rate they'll never leave Lothlorien. It's been almost a fortnight, how much longer will it take?

I search through the night for a new hiding place. Finally, I come across a small outcropping in the side of a small cliff. It isn't too shallow so I won't be seen from the outside. Almost a cave, but not quite, especially to a native to Mordor. They have real caves, not these dinky holes made for elves on a diet. Come to think of it, elves on a diet wouldn't even be able to lay down in this sorry excuse for a 'cave'. I grumble, tucking my legs into my chest. This is going to be a _lovely_ few nights. At least I hope it's only another few nights. It would be a shame if I had to strangle the fellowship before getting to spy on them, deceive them, steal from them, and manipulate them, and not after.

When I wake up in the cool of morning and crawl out of my dinky, glorified hell-hole (because really, that's all it is), I am sore and cramped all over. When I stretch, I hear multiple pops and cracks. I groan when I bend over to pick up my sack, and my back screeches in protest. Before slinging it over my shoulder I pull out a couple stale biscuits. By now the sight of them is almost enough to make me barf, and after eyeing them with disgust I unceremoniously shove the parcel back into the depths of my pack. I spend the rest of the morning foraging for nuts and berries, occasionally having to duck into a bush or up into a tree to evade the elves prowling all over the place as if they owned it, which I suppose they kind of do. Doesn't make it any less infuriating, though.

I finally rendezvous back to my hell-hole. I hiss as my back protests, I shudder at the thought of spending another night in Lothlorien. If the fellowship does not get their sorry little arses out of this retched place soon… well I'm not sure what exactly I'll do, but it won't be pretty. I crawl into the cramped space that serves as my new home away from home, the thoughts of destroying the fellowship keeping me motivated to squeeze my legs close to my body. With these thoughts I slowly nod off, already imagining the pain that would accompany the next morning.


	3. Naukavausan Avhaumn (Nasty Thing)

Chapter Two: Naukavausan Avhaumn (Nasty Thing)

The fellowship is finally leaving Lothlorien. I can't wait to get out of here, to embrace the feeling of freedom from this nasty place of light. I can barely contain my excitement, my pack is prepared and my scimitars are cleaned.

Feeling exalted, I slip into a dip as the chattering group starts prepping to leave. A couple minutes later finds them thanking the elves and bidding farewell. My eyes skim over them, lingering on the halflings. Now that they've been fed they look like the fat, happy weaklings they are. It is almost disgusting that one of these has been entrusted with such an honor. Still, if all goes well soon I will have the ring in my possession. And it looks like that moment is ever growing closer, they are finally getting a move on, unknowingly leaving the place that had protected them from me

The sun is shining bright overhead, dappling the forest floor with hues of gold and vibrant green, the hazy rays filtering through the dense woodlands. The beaded grass is soft underfoot, allowing me to noiselessly pad after the trudging fellowship. Their packs are bulging with supplies, and their sallow faces have been replaced by a spring in their steps.

* * *

They take the river, which makes me think that they are finally realizing the danger they are in. The river would be where I would go to, in the small boats that are easily defended and being able to see the attackers long before they arrived, it is the ideal way of travel. I, however, must trudge along on the muddy bank. Mud and water sloshing in my boots, twigs in my once normally immaculate hair, and tears in my tunic from the shrubbery I have had to dive into so as not to be seen. This journey is not going my way, not in the least bit.

Whenever they go on shore to rest I harbor hopes of possibly sneaking onto a canoe and tucking myself under supplies, but whenever I consider making a dash to one of the boats I hesitate until it is too late. And I've tried crawling on at night, but the night guard always stands watch from either one of the boats, or in direct view line, making it utterly impossible. I develop a new hatred for this traveling group with every day that passes by. And I _still_ have no idea which one of them is carrying the blasted ring.

I do get some slight satisfaction from the small joys, like sneaking rocks into their packs whenever possible which is sadly not that often but still. There is almost nothing more satisfying than watching a halfling attempt to wrestle with a weighted down bag. Pity they're not hiking anymore.

The other presence that I have felt has not vanished and though they are far enough behind me I am still a bit put off by it. It is worse than a warg howling when I am trying to sleep. The inability to do anything about the lowlife that slinks in the shadows drives me insane, though in a way that describes me too. But I am much more elegant in my ways, much more dignified than this "other". Sighing, I curl up for the night and hope that nothing interesting will go on under my nose.

* * *

The dawn comes bright and early on the third day of river travel. I pull my cloak around me in hopes of getting more sleep, but the fellowship is already packing their sleeping mats away and eating breakfast and so my plans are foiled. I hope they will stop for a lunch break today, at least so that I can actually get a good bite to eat. They can eat anytime they want in their elvish boats, I, however must be constantly running through shrubbery or knee deep mud to keep up.

However, as they eat more and more one of their boats is growing less and less full. If I ever get the opportunity, I will have no problem stowing away on that ship. Some of their supplies are packed in crates, and there is one at the very end with a small space underneath. Though it will be rough, I can squeeze in there, and the crate is so large and heavy they won't ever lift it, so I will remain unexposed, if not a bit cramped. Fueled by my new plan, I hardly notice the rough jabs of the vegetation and the mud lapping at my feet, trying to suck me into the river. Water makes me slightly uncomfortable, Mordor isn't exactly filled with streams and lakes so I never learned how to swim. It can't be that hard though, happy fat weaklings do it all the time.

The next day, I wake up only to realize I've fallen behind. The rest of the morning is a blur of sprinting over the rough terrain; at one point my foot gets caught and I get tossed flailing into the water. I have a moment of panic as I sink beneath the surface, but after a second my feet find the bottom and push off, sending me sputtering to the shore. I almost pathetically crawl out of the water, my body shaking from my coughs and shivering.

I'm glad I'm still a bit behind because otherwise my splash and swearing would have given me away. Still, now as I run my wet clothes rub my skin raw, and I look like a bedraggled beast, which I suppose I am. But I put all that behind me when I finally catch up, the delightful smell of roasted fish welcoming me back while at the same time taunting me.

As night creeps in and the fellowship wind down, my heart rate picks up. What if I were to board the boat now? It would be perfect, they are all eating dinner and it looks like they will be a while because of the bags under their eyes and their voices weary from a rough day on the river. But just as I am about to make my break, I see a grossly pale blur streak by, right towards the boat. The sneaky bastard. It looks like the Presence beat me to it, and in my moment of distraction the human gets up and goes towards the boats. He skims them and finds nothing. Still slightly suspicious he moves on nevertheless, taking his watch position on the center most boat. As I look at the boats and my missed chance, my heart sinks slightly. At least the strange creature didn't take my hiding place. Still, I am bitter because it lost me my opportunity.

* * *

The morning comes, once again too early, and I must force myself to rise with the fellowship. They begin to eat and I watch for any openings in their guard. After last night they are sure to be more protective and careful. Which is rather unfortunate for me, as it keeps me on my toes. The stale biscuit accompanied by half of a practically raw rabbit (not a problem for me, raw meat is just fine for those born of the night, but it doesn't taste as good) barely satisfy my growling stomach as I watch the fellowship.

But, persistent, I push on. Weakness is not in option in my home, and I will not start giving in here, surrounded by lesser beings. Instead, as I trudge the day away I devise several new plans and like it or not I would be on one of those boats by tomorrow morning, or die trying though I doubt they could ever harm me. If all goes well I can hopefully distract them during their dinner and creep onto the little vessel. Hopefully, as soon as they stop I'll head off into the bushes and light a fire, throwing some vegetation over it so it'll be nice and smoky, very attention grabbing. Some of them will go to investigate while I sprint back, also using the trees for passage. While the rest of them are not looking I'll undo the knot on one of the boats, so that they have to chase it or risk losing supplies. In all the pandemonium I'll sneak aboard, maybe with some of their warm dinner. And if things don't go well, I have multiple plan B's.

* * *

Of course things don't go well. As I am trying to light the fire, the Presence slips by me, unexpectedly knocking me off balance. I curse far too loudly and the elf, with his perfect hearing, is alerted. I run through the bushes, climbing swiftly into a tree. Holding my breath, I feel like a child again, playing hide-and-go-seek with the ever patient Ring wraiths.

The elf turns back after ascertaining that the threat is not close enough to go after and I let out my breath slowly. Once over the initial shock of almost being discovered, I begin to seethe with rage. Who does that little git think he is to go about foiling my plans? If only he knew who I was! After contemplating things for a while, I decide to strangle the Presence the next time I see him.

Thoroughly agitated but never the less determined to carry out my plans, I noiselessly drop from the oak, scattering a curious squirrel. I silently pad through the surrounding trees until I've put some distance between me and the elf, but it isn't enough to put me at ease. Now that he is closer than I would have liked, I will have to light my distraction much farther from camp than I had anticipated, leaving me less time to dart back, and with the dilemma of making a much larger fire. The latter turns out to be easier than I thought, this gnarly, seasoned wood practically bursts into flames before I've even lit the fire. With the help of some ferns and green tinder, the clearing is soon choking with smoke. Satisfied, I start sprinting back, my eyes watering and my lungs hacking. I know I am getting close to camp when I hear the fellowship exclaiming in alarm, and the sound of hurried footsteps rushing by the tree I quickly pulled myself into to avoid getting discovered.

Finally, I slink into camp and towards the boats, the remaining travelers entranced by the puffs of smoke rising over the trees and oblivious to the danger lurking behind them. I feel my heart stop as I get a thought: what if I just finish them off now and take the ring? But I push it away before it takes root, the ring is not the sole purpose of my mission. Instead, I sidle closer to the boat nearest to me and start pulling at the knot keeping the vessel hostage, until it releases and the boat starts to drift away, downstream. In the few seconds where nothing happens I duck back to the where the forest meets the clearing, making it just before the chorus of flustered shouts commences.

When I emerge from my hiding place, none of the fellowship is to be seen. Swiftly, I run to the food boat and pull the chest up, my muscles straining. I barely slip under, the group that went after the fire is just coming out of the bushes and I gently drop the chest over myself. I let out the smallest sigh of relief, the Presence has not interfered this time. Just as I am thinking this I see something slip into the river, a small thin grayish corpse like body, the Presence.

Peering out from under the crate, eyes narrowed, I watch it slither through the water towards a boat to my left. I shudder as I imagine the plants twisting up from the sandy bottom, tugging at the Presences legs, dragging him under where the murky water would swallow him whole, his struggling body churning in the current. But as soon as it came, the image bursts, and the paranoia with it, as the Presence effortlessly pulls itself onto the other boat. Like a turtle tucking its head into its shell, I pull myself back under the musty crate and shiver, listening to the black water lapping at the sides of the boat. Though night has fallen, I know I won't be getting any sleep.

I lay awake, nervous, the elf has uncanny hearing, not better than mine though. I was born and trained to become the personal assassin and guard to Him. Thoughts of home fill me with something close to sorrow, though I would never admit to such a thing, I am a bit homesick. The rocky, fiery landscape that one can fly across for ages, never getting bored, just flying and watching it go by under you. I smile as I imagine AgonZajar flying back home, her wings unfurling, the wind blowing around her eyes. With those thoughts, against my better will, I nod off.

* * *

When I wake up, clothes damp from the soggy floorboards and my back aching, I try to to stretch as best I can given how small and cramped my new "home" is. Giving up, I flop down, gently rocking the boat. I freeze, but nobody seems to have noticed. From the faint light I can see shining through the crack between the crate and the boards it is resting on (the crack which doubles as my peephole), I deduce that it is late morning. My stomach seems to notice too, as it growls, a plea for food. Food might be a bit of a problem, seeing as I can't just go out and in all day without getting spotted or breaking my arms. But I don't really need food at the moment, the average human can go without for three weeks, and I am much tougher than that so I'll survive. Still, it doesn't help my whining stomach.

Scowling, I wriggle over so I'm no longer on my back and prop my head on my hands after scootching forward. Maybe I can distract myself by admiring the view. Five seconds later, I am bored. I can't help but groan, what was I thinking stowing away on this dismally dull boat? But a glance towards the riverside, laced with menacing thorns, rocks, and tree roots, is enough to make me a little more grateful.

I pass the time listening to the fellowship, which is boring and fairly uninteresting. I do get a confirmation on who the wizard was though. Gandalf the Grey, the third most powerful wizard in Middle Earth, felled by a Balrog. I think of the look on His face if he knew that Gandalf the Grey, one of His least favorite menaces, was taken down by one of His experiments.

Time seems to stretch on forever, my legs grow more and more cramped and my stomach is whining even more. These things I can ignore but, the overwhelming urge that overcomes me at around noon cannot be ignored. I need to get of this boat and soon, though I might be more Ringwraith than anything else, I have some of the most human needs to. It frustrates me that I cannot hold in my needs but, that is life I suppose.

To my relief the boats begin to slow, apparently the halflings are hungry. The crate is opened and food is lifted out of it. This will make it lighter for me to lift, something that I am grateful for. I'm tall, and fairly strong, but after being stuck in these cramped conditions for so long, thoughts of lifting the box seem painful.

As soon as the sound of their merry laughter and chatter has faded away slightly, I gently lift the crate up ever so slightly, and look out. I can see the fellowship huddled around a fire, same as always, the smell of their supper taunting me. But I have one purpose, and one purpose only, so I quickly dart out from under my crate, silently leaping from the boat and rolling into a cluster of bushes. Weaving through the maze of branches, I put as much distance between us as possible before the urge becomes too great.

After relieving myself, I can't help but sigh. There is nothing worse than lying in a tight, dank space for hours with a full bladder, and nothing better than releasing the pressure and enjoying the fresh air. Content, I make my way back through the darkening woods, stopping every once in awhile to gather berries and game.

As I am making my way back to the boats, I catch glimpse of something. Before I have time to react a slimy gray thing leaps onto my back. I snarl, the Presence, I should have known. My scimitars are out in an instant but, the mud and branches surrounding us make it hard to swing at it. I back up, getting closer and closer to the river as I do so. Soon I can hear the water lapping against the shore, I swing at the Presence, my scimitar making slight contact. I hear a small yelp and blackish blood runs down my neck.

I start to gain the upper hand, flipping the Presence over my head, it squeals again. I am about to press my scimitar against its neck when it surprises me. Leaping over my blade he slams me into the shore, the water getting dangerously close to my head. Against my better instincts I let out the scream like call for AgonZajar. Though I know she is nowhere near me, I desperately wish for her to come.

Moving so quickly I can hardly keep track of him, I barely see him take my scimitar. I release a wrangled cry, but it's too late. Pinning me down, he lifts one, a cruel smirk on his pale face and satisfaction gleaming in his bulging eyes. As he brings it down, I do the only thing I can think of: I forcefully roll away from him and into the water, the greedy waves grabbing me and pulling me under. I desperately claw for the surface and manage to kick up, grabbing a breath of air and releasing an anguished shriek before I am tossed back under. The Presence gives one last smile and throws my scimitar at me, not as a favor but, as another thing to weigh me down in my struggle for air. As I try to stay afloat, I am wrenched to the side, my head hitting a rock, and as I sink under the waves the world fades away.


	4. Avhe Fellowukhip (The Fellowship)

Chapter 3: Avhe Fellowukhip: Includaumn ij Sulj Heaavun Diukcuukukion Abouav avhe Meriavuk ro Guavavaumn Fiukh (The Fellowship:Including a Very Heated Discussion About the Merits of Gutting Fish)

The first thing that I see is a grim looking human looming over me. Something is pushing down on my chest and I push against the man frantically, struggling for breath.

"Stop struggling, I'm trying to help," the man says, pinning my arms down.

"I..."the croak that escapes my mouth sounds pathetic and weak. I start again, "Get off me." I try to put as much authority into my voice as possible. It still sounds pathetic.

The man takes his hands away and gives me room to sit up. The world spins, and I groan, my head pounding and my chest aching. All of a sudden I am overcome with the need to vomit. River water pours out of my sore throat, and I gasp for air. The world spins again and it is all I can do to fall back against the ground. The elf looks over me, concern and suspicion filling his face.

"Why do you carry orcish blades? And what are you doing out here?" he questions. I see a bow and quiver upon his back. His weapon looks like that of the elves of Mirkwood.

"I could ask the same of you, what is a Mirkwood elf doing with this odd bunch?" as soon as the words escape my lips I bit my tongue. Perhaps that was not the best way to get them to trust me. I quickly add on, "All I meant was that it is strange for your kind to leave the forest, and as for what I am doing here, well that's a rather long story."

"We have time,"the man says, he is eyeing the scimitars, "And what of your weapon?"

"I killed an orc,"I answer simply, they stare at me. I realize that it is strange for them to see a female in battle. So I correct myself once again, "Or rather my fellow traveler did. We were on the road when two orc scouts attacked us. None of the others survived."

"Where were you heading one might ask? And what do they call you?" the elf grips his bow now.

I think fast, AgonZajar and I flew over this land on our way to find the fellowship. "Rohan," I say quickly, "And they call me Mel…," I think fast, if I say Melkor they will know that I am one of the Shadow. What is a friendly innocent sounding name? Then it hits me, the word for friend in Sindarin is Mellon and I look quite similar to an elf, perhaps I can pull it of. "Melloniel,"I say, hoping my voice sounds confident.

"I see, Melloniel," the elf responds, looking back at the huddle of people behind him staring at us, wide eyed and suspicious. I do my best to smile sweetly at them, but the expression is unnatural on my frown-creased face. Not to mention my head throbs from where it hit the rock.

Now that the world has stopped twirling and the edges of my vision are no longer blurred I stagger to my feet, unprepared for the rush to my head and imbalance at my feet. I awkwardly fall forward, knocking into the elf who somehow manages to catch me, gracefully. He steadies me, and I am about to glower at him when I stop. If I want to sell the "I'm a sweet, fair, lost little damsel" story and avoid suspicion, then I will sadly have to play the part. So instead I flash him a smile and say thank you, the words foreign in my mouth.

Turning my back on the cursed river, I clumsily walk towards the fellowship, the man on one side and the elf gently guiding me on the other. I desperately want to shove his hand off my shoulder and maybe stick a blade in his stomach, but that might be a bit of a give away. Had I known before that if I revealed myself they would just take me in, I would have done it ages ago. I guess I overestimated their intelligence, and that's saying something.

Supposedly having determined that I'm no threat, they help me towards the fire, bright orange against the turquoise darkness of evening, and wrap a thick blanket around my shoulders; I hadn't even realized I was shivering. After handing me a warm bowl of fairly disgusting stew, they start prodding me about my dead companion and what attacked me. In the end I am forced to improvise a story filled with blubbering and fake tears, death, blood, guts and glory, which they eat up. It all comes to a climax when on my way to ask them for directions and assistance, feeling hopeless and still reeling from the loss of my friend, I am "attacked by a rabid beast!" and shoved into the river. By this point I have gotten quite adept at fake tears and lay it on rather thick, maybe even too much, but they look at me with compassion in their eyes and I know they will not simply leave me to the animals. It takes serious self restraint not to laugh at their stupidity.

I fall asleep, feeling content and my stomach is pleasantly full, this is a feeling I have never felt before. I don't have to stay alert, and the elf is standing sentry which makes me feel safer in this weak injured state that I am in. Though I would never want to put my trust in anyone but AgonZajar, the elf has the best senses out of the whole fellowship so there is a feeling of protection from the ghastly beast that attacked me.

* * *

In the morning rough hands shove me awake, and when I wearily open my eyes I am face to face with the scraggly dwarf. Shocked, I bolt up and almost impale myself on his axe. I catch myself just in time and scowl up at him, quickly turning it into a smile when I remember what I'm here to do. Satisfied that I'm awake, he grunts and trudges off, leaving me sitting wide eyed and thoroughly irritated, my heart jumping in my chest. After a second I begrudgingly get up. Still a little weak from my encounter with the Presence, I almost topple over, but I manage to steady myself, sighing, my head throbbing and my shoulder aching.

I gather myself and plaster a smile on my face, bringing my eyes up and letting them sweep the camp. As I look around I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment; I am the last one awake and everyone else is huddled in a clump eating breakfast and chatting. Great.

The fat hobbit makes surprisingly good breakfast, with the given resources(mostly fish, and some potatoes). I try to smile and chat with the others in the group, it is awkward and sounds forced to me but they fall for it quite easily. The other Man, whose name I discover is Boromir, is quite interested in my tale. I find out that he comes from Gondor, I have probably slunk past his room on the way to assassinate a Gondorian noble. The Man who pulled me out of the river is a good friend to the elves, and the heir to the throne of Gondor. Aragorn, he is the most suspicious and the most difficult to talk to. The elf, prince of Mirkwood, is as snobbish and arrogant as I suspected he would be when I first saw him. The four halflings are a fat one, two energetic ones, and a sullen one. Then there is the dwarf of course, filthy creature, I've never been fond of them and after they killed one of AgonZajars best friends, Smaug, I've hated them. On top of that, I still have no idea who the Ringbearer is.

When we're finished eating everyone around me gets up and wordlessly starts repacking everything with a monotony that makes it clear that this is a task they perform everyday. Unsure of what to do, I stay seated on the damp log, watching the curls of smoke drift up from the dying fire. Just when I start to feel awkward, I hear a grunt behind me and turn around barely in time to catch a sleeping mat before it can knock me over. When I look up I see the dwarf once more, a scowl in his beady eyes.

"Go on, make yourself useful." he grumbles, before trudging off towards the boats, his arms loaded with supplies. Sighing, I follow him with the mat crooked under my arm, silently seething about being bossed around in this manner. Seeing my discomfort, one of the jolly halflings bounds up to me, the bundle clutched in his hand dragging on the ground, and starts making conversation. Though I have to hold my tongue so as not to reveal my true nature, the chat is surprisingly pleasant. Later, after the camp is cleared and it appears like we were never there, I find myself in the same boat as the hobbit. I am pleased to see that he also squirms when he eyes the water; at least I am not the only one who doesn't trust the rippling river.

* * *

The boat ride is boring, but so much better than being stuck under the food crate and running through the brush and mud on the side of the river. Though I must ride behind the stern Man, Aragorn. I feel as though he can see through the slim facade of being a fair maiden. The questions that I am asked make me only slightly uncomfortable and the answers come easily. The lying isn't the hard part, that is second nature, but the story of how I came to be in the river… I don't have all that much experience with being a lady.

But in the end the strange Man seems to tire of me and instead gazes at the riverside, occasionally nudging the boat in the right direction so we don't crash. The silence stays heavy in the air until the young Halfling, whose name is Pippin, I believe, starts up another conversation.

By the time the sun is bright and glaring overhead, we are deep in a very heated discussion about whether it is necessary to fully gut and cook fish. It is my firm belief that as long as you chop off the head, the fish is edible. If you can give it a little toast over the fire, great. But it seems like a tremendous waste of time and effort to meticulously empty the fish of it's innards, sprinkle herbs and seasoning over it, and cook it to perfection over a fire which can draw attention to you if you are trying to hide. But Pippin stays adamant in his belief that even out here in the wilderness your fish should be a culinary masterpiece.

We continue to bicker lightly about roasting the fish or simply shoving it into the fire for a few seconds. I find that I am enjoying this more than ripping their heads off and stealing the ring. This makes me uncomfortable though, happiness is what is supposed to come with brutally murdering someone, not idly bantering with them. My train of thought is stopped right then by a flock of dark crows flying off in the distance. The fellowship begins to panic, apparently these birds have flown by them before and are the birds of Sauroman. Personally I don't understand their fear, the crows love to play with me and Zarry, games of fetch and tag last forever when one plays with them.

Everyone is frantically discussing what to do, though I find it better to keep my mouth shut and try my best to look uneasy. My acting has been steadily improving, and now the sickly sweet smile that must stick plastered to my face doesn't feel quite as foreign. But fear is harder to sell than sweetness. Growing up, I was often terrified but I was never allowed to let my fear show, something I learned the hard way. Whenever I am afraid (which is a rare occurrence), I have become accustomed to pushing it down. Skilled enemies can tell when one is afraid, and a caught breath or small step backwards can notify them that they have the upper hand, giving them the confidence they need to defeat you. So after decades of punishments for betraying my fear, punishments that paved the way to near fearlessness, it is unnatural for me to have to fabricate fear and make a public display of it.

Still, no one bats an eye as I clunkily speed my breath and widen my eyes, trying my best to pretend that I am terrified by the little black specks faintly silhouetted in the distance. I see a raised eyebrow or two, but by now everyone has accepted that 'Melloniel the weary traveller' is quirky, and thinks no more of it. They occupy themselves with safely guiding us to shore, away from the eyes of the crows, leaving me to my sucky acting. I'm beginning to wonder whether I'm overdoing it, or if anyone is even watching anymore, when Pippin scoots over to me, gently swaying the boat, and tenderly takes my hand. I almost recoil, at home if someone goes to touch you it usually signifies that there is a beating coming, but there seems to be no malice in his eyes. I think….I think he is comforting me; he believes I am scared and wants to reassure me. Something feels strange, and in this moment I realize that I have no urge to scoff at his stupidity at comforting the enemy. Rather, I feel like we are….friends.

* * *

The next morning comes swiftly, but it is Pippin who wakes me and it is not so bad. The breakfast of crisp fish is surprisingly enjoyable and the potatoes taste incredible, certainly much better than the stale biscuits I stole at the beginning of my journey. As we begin to pack our supplies, I hear a cracking noise coming from the bushes. The elf seems to be the only one besides me who notices anything unusual, he shushes the rest of them and then Aragorn seems to hear it too. I place myself between Pippin and the bushes, feeling a strange urge to protect the halfling. Then there comes a roar as an orc leaps out of the bushes, straight at the sullen hobbit who is closest to him. The others shout and surge to protect him, that's when it clicks, he must be the ring bearer.

However, it's clear that the early start and days of weary travel have taken a toll on my companions, and though they are holding their ground I can hear the sounds of more in the distance. I cannot turn against my own people, cannot sink a blade into an orc. But at the same time I cannot just let this mission go and watch these people die; the people who pulled me from the depths of the river, who fed me and gave me shelter. Sweet Pippin, still firmly rooted in his mindset that fish must be cooked to perfection, and even the grumpy dwarf who is begrudgingly starting to tolerate me. No, I cannot let them die. Of course, only for the sake of the mission, at least that's what I tell myself as I grip my scimitar. When I have what I need, I will slaughter them all, they are not my friends no matter what my traitorous heart says.

With this thought in my head I draw out my scimitar and charge headlong into the group of orcs.


End file.
